


Clara, in the Tardis, with a nightie

by Cappyforever



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cappyforever/pseuds/Cappyforever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mix up of odd references, something with no sense at all apart from smut&sex.<br/>English is not my first language, so please forgive my mistakes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clara, in the Tardis, with a nightie

So, he rode a sleigh! Even if it was only in a dream, it felt so real and so beautiful he continued giggling, unable to stop. Well, he giggled also because of Clara.  
Clara was with him again, in the Tardis.  
Clara in the Tardis, with a nightie.  
Killing a Timelord with all her cuteness.

She was there, for real this time, and listening to the soft humming of the Tardis made her feel like home: he had not redecorated, but she saw some repair on the console. It seemed like something had gone awry, some of the levers were all in the wrong places and there were signs of burnt wires.

He was looking at the monitor, all business, and his long fingers were flying over the controls to search for some new and exciting destination.  
Clara looked at him, and the Doctor, feeling her stare, looked back, smiling.  
“Why the burning on the console?”  
She was serious and concerned.  
“I never found Gallifrey. The coordinates were a fake, I lost control”  
“And you smashed things around?”  
“Yes”  
He was no more smiling, the pain of the betrayal again stabbing at his chest.

“Why didn’t you come to me?”  
“I thought you were with Danny”  
“How long…”  
“Doesn’t matter now, does it?  
“It does matter, we were miserable - the both of us - and we were alone, because we lied to each other!”  
How could a person so little burn with so much intensity was beyond the Doctor comprehension, but there she was, all rage and fury, eyes blazing and mouth set. Although the slippers were a bit of an undermining.  
He moved toward her, slow and careful.  
Last time he saw her like that, she said he was to go a long way away.

“Sometimes caring too much is a disadvantage”  
He said and stopped a few steps from her, wanting to come closer, wanting to reach out and stroke her cheeks, wanting to fill that gap that he had set up so long ago, soon after this new regeneration.  
He was terrified then: new face, new hearts, old feelings difficult to cope with.  
He was equally afraid now, as if Clara was a little goldfinch ready to fly away and never to come back if he moved too fast.  
He thought he already had lost her, to Danny.  
Forever.  
Because he was an idiot unable to speak his mind and tell her the simple truth: Clara I love you, even if I’m thousands of years old and I’m not from Earth.  
What about that? Uh?  
But no! He had to go with that terrible, horrible line “I’m not your boyfriend”, yeah, you figure! That was him all manly man, taking his responsibilities and acting like a moron!

Because he saw himself in the mirror, he saw his new face all frowned up and already used and he didn’t recognize that old, bitter twat.  
And he thought that Clara would have not seen him either.  
She almost didn’t.  
Now here they are, second chances don’t come easy, and he is sure he is about to screw it up again. So he remains silent and still.

Clara is staring at him, pondering.  
She is addicted to this life: the months they stood apart were awful, one dull day after the other, nothing to wait for, nothing to discover, nothing to run toward. She thought she could definitely loose her mind with nothing to do but remember.  
Now the Doctor was one step away, he came in her dream to save her once more and she was again in the Tardis, alive and with the heart thudding loudly.  
She stares at him, taking in his narrow face, his wrinkles, his gray hair, and she thinks he is the most powerful sight she has ever seen in her life.  
All those months alone, thinking at the swirling events of her recent life and understanding so many things: Danny and the Doctor.  
The man with reassuring eyes and square shoulders to lean on and be cuddle from.  
The man with the murderous eyebrows and the rough edges to be scared of and be burnt by.  
The quiet breeze and the oncoming storm.  
She had loved Danny, and she was devastated by his death, but the truth was that she was in love with the Doctor, she always had been and no matter the regeneration, she would always be in love with the mad man in a box.  
Caring too much is a disadvantage.  
Yes, maybe, but caring too much is what makes you alive and ready to fight.

“I was alone”  
“So was I”  
“I don’t care if I care too much”  
“That is a bit confusing, but if you say so”  
“Don’t you dare make fun of me! I missed you so much I thought I could go crazy!”  
“Your eyes are getting huge again… and, and… all watery”  
“It’s because I’m about to cry, you maddening alien!”

Another pause to steady themselves, to calm down their breathing, to regain a little bit of control.  
Another step toward one another, slowly leaning forward.  
Don’t be afraid.  
Don’t fly away.  
Stay with me.

He looks at her and sees the impossible woman who’s always been with him throughout his long life, like a guardian angel.  
She looks at him and sees the impossible man with the universe in his hands as an offer for her to enjoy.  
They reach for each other: his hand cups her face, her hand rests on his hearts.

“I thought I wanted a normal life. I was wrong. I want this, I want new planets every day, and I want you to wonder by my side”  
“I will give you all of time and space”  
“I don’t want to lie anymore, and I don’t want you to lie to me for my own sake. I want to…”  
“What?”

She wants to kiss him, and properly touch him, like a lover.  
She is sure her breathing has sped up, she can feel the warmth in her own cheeks and she has the worst case of stomach butterfly ever happened to any person. She is lost in his eyes and all she can think of is how wonderful might be to have his mouth on hers.  
She leans in his hand, another step forward.  
She encircles and embrace him, afraid to be rejected ma determined nonetheless, and with a final leap she reaches for his mouth.  
He is frozen for just a second, the time to realize that Clara wants exactly what he is longing for and then everything is lost in the drumming of their blood rushing.  
The Doctor kisses Clara with precision and dedication, with tenderness and passion, with all of his attention: he captures the softness of her lips between his, he tastes her little teeth one by one, he encounters her tongue and welcome it. He is totally absorbed in the sweetness of her breath and doesn’t immediately realize that Clara is moaning against him. When the sound finally reaches his ears, he pauses, retreats and looks at her, like she’s a sculpture, or a very precious specimen to study with maximum care.  
With his long fingers he begins to underline the curve of her eyebrows, caressing her nose, brushing her lips and then moving down to the neck. He moves lightly on the shoulders and then begins kissing her again, little touches on every spot previously memorized by his hands.  
She is standing, unmoving, breathing evenly and letting him do all the exploration required.  
And then her nightie is suddenly in the way and he is moving against her, the gown up to the waist, his fingers brushing her thighs, one of his legs moving between hers.

He pushes against her, she is moving backward, up the steps till they reach the bookshelf. There's no more way to go, only the small ladder used to reach the higher books. He pushes once more, and she is on to it, to gain some height: now they can look into each other eyes without bending.  
He gazes at her, his mouth so close to hers but not touching, it’s like he is breathing her breath, like he is tasting something only his alien physiology can grasp.

One movement and her knickers are gone, he grabs at the soft curve of her bottom with both hands and pushes her up another step. She shifts one leg and wraps it around his waist, clinging to his shoulders with her arms.  
He caresses her thighs, finding his way to her sex. She is slick and wet and his long middle finger parts her lower lips, and enters with no effort whatsoever: his thumb is on her clit, she can only shudder like a leaf.  
Their mouths are almost touching, dancing around one another. Their eyes are almost shut but not quite, because they want to look at each other, fearing it might be another dream.  
He steadies himself and lean into her, he withdraws his finger and see the dismay on Clara's face at the sudden emptiness.  
But he needs one arm to sustain her, and the other one to unbuckle his trousers, because he is overwhelmed and he cannot wait anymore.  
When she hears the zip going down, she almost cries out: the strangled sound that catches in her throat sends goosebumps along his spine.  
Slowly, so slowly, caressing her mouth with his own, he guides himself between her legs, teases at her entrance to catch some of the hot wetness, and then push forward, inch by inch, till he is inside her completely.  
Now he kiss her, his mouth covering hers with hunger, his tongue claiming her completely.  
His cock stand still, buried inside her, while he is fucking her mouth with his own.  
Then, he begins moving, a little rotation, a little more grinding into her, he draws out almost completely and plunges in again, so slow she is coming apart around him.  
A low moan escape his lips, this body is new to the rush of adrenaline coming from sex, but is fast adjusting.  
His hands are on her hips, half caressing half sustaining her weight.  
She is standing on one leg, the other one high around his waist to give him access: looking at them from afar they are a picture of lust and beauty, their noises tantalizing.  
The pace of his thrust increases, his cock pinning her against the shelves, her hands into his hair, too much dresses in the way but who cares, the hoody is so sexy it only adds to the building pleasure.  
He lifts her a little bit more, one arm under her knee, one hand gripping her bottom and spreading it apart, he bends his legs and is hitting her on another spot, inner and almost inaccessible.  
The pace is growing steadier and faster, every thrust more precise, more focused, more intense.  
She is screaming his name now, clinging to his lean form, her orgasm erupting like a wave of molten lava.  
He is whispering her name, one more thrust, one more movement and the pulse of his own orgasm shaking him, clouding his mind, reaching his hearts, bursting like a supernova.

They’re both shaking, unstable on jelly legs, wrapped around one another and not willing to let go.  
He kisses her again and again.  
She purposefully and delicately clenches around him, milking for some more juice.

“I want you to be inside me forever”  
“You are the Boss”

All of time and space, and the perfect spot is the one with the Doctor, with Clara, on a bookshelf


End file.
